


in the sky, there is only you.

by llumberries



Series: doki wars [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!, Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Edo Period, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gen, There is Plot i promise, Yokai AU, probably not a happy ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:34:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25063963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llumberries/pseuds/llumberries
Summary: yokai au.takao kunazari x gn!reader x ushijima wakatoshi.warnings: graphic (?) descriptions of a headache™.
Relationships: Takao Kazunari/Reader, Takao Kazunari/You, Ushijima Wakatoshi/Reader, Ushijima Wakatoshi/You
Series: doki wars [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815247
Kudos: 7





	in the sky, there is only you.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deltachye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/gifts).



> yokai au.  
> takao kunazari x gn!reader x ushijima wakatoshi.
> 
> warnings: graphic (?) descriptions of a headache™.

Although the path before you is smothered with weeds and dried leaves, the edges of a dirt road are discernible and steadily guide your roundabout journey to Tsuchiyu. You tell yourself that, even if there weren’t a marked route, you would still be able to navigate your way back home without much difficulty: this isn’t the first time you’ve wandered farther than your village permitted, or roamed off the trails that have been established. You know these woods and mountains after generations of your family being situated in Tsuchiyu, caution and guidance passed down from your ancestors and relatives, and have made your own general rule book along the way.

1: Live _with_ the culture of your village, not _in_ it.

2: Provide for your family without infringing completely into your individuality.

3: No distance, emotional or physical, is too far unless your gut tells you it is.

Like most words to live by, your “rule book” isn’t law. Nothing has ever been “law” to you since you became of age. To your parents, you were still an obedient child, and out of respect you had upheld that image of yourself when in their presence. You weren’t a nuisance to your village by any means – as a lone wolf, you typically tended to issues or matters through your own methods, and occasionally to your close friends you expressed a desire to deviate from established norms. 

You’d prefer to be called independent over subversive, although it probably couldn’t have been helped in the long run. 

On the trunk of a tree up ahead, you note the carving of a dog’s ear that you had made weeks prior. While you don’t know the physical distance you’ve traveled, you estimate that you have been walking for a bit over an hour from the position of the sun, which would indicate that you’d have ample enough sunlight in the evening to get home. You could afford this trip between two and four times a week without your neighbors getting suspicious of how often or long you were gone, as those who are aware of your wandering hardly see any reason why you should. All that anyone would need is local: with the Arakawa River flowing through the heart of the town, the onsen provide a sustainable economy for the livelihood of the denizens, and many travelers pass through on their way to Sendai.

It’s a good town, with good people and a good living. You think you like it here, as it’s the only place you’ve known: you can’t imagine being anywhere else because you haven’t been anywhere else. The trips you take are to sate your need to see more, not just to get away. The settlement and just beyond has grown too small, too cramped after all these years, even if it provides well for its people. 

You’re not sure if you’ll leave soon – for good, that is. You’ve saved up enough to maybe travel to Sendai or Yamagata, but not to stay permanently. Anywhere would be a new environment, one that isn’t Tsuchiyu, so you’re confident that no matter where you end up, you would find it more comfortable.

A turn here, then another once you spot the sparrow’s nest on the ginkgo tree, and you should be back home in twenty minutes. It would be just in time for your rotation at the onsen, where you would be until the baths closed for the night. The sky is overcast, and you briefly wonder if it will rain and whether or not you should hasten your pace. You do anyways, cycling your legs in stride with the count of numbers in your head.

Although you anticipate the bird’s nest to be in front of you (your body’s spatial memory claims that it should be right here), you never see it. The ginkgo tree marks the divide in the road, branches outstretched towards the horizon and leaves the color of honey – no sparrows nest. Neither at the base of the tree, nor on any of the lower branches do you see any nest, or even traces of it. 

“Uh . . .” You blink profusely, and your walking pauses. It’s not an issue that your landmark is missing: you’re able to recognize the area after trekking through these woods as often as you do. It’s your curiosity that prompts you to ponder what happened to the sparrows. If they had left for another location, the nest would still be here – so you deduce that something must have moved it.

“Okay . . .”

Still piqued, you shuffle yourself to the trunk of the ginkgo, eyeing the leaf-strewn soil as you go. Closer to the body of the tree, the abundance of flora thickens, and you find yourself wading in piles that reach up to your shins. Still no signs of nest residue. Overhead, the golden leaves cast translucent shadows over your hair, and you peer upwards slightly; you can't see the sky through the foliage. 

And then the leaves speak. 

“Do you ogle trees for fun or somethin’?”

Your eyes widen, pupils constricting at the unanticipated, second-party invasion of your solitude. _Above_ , your ears warn, but you have been looking _above_. Above, there is nothing. Nothing besides the branches, the thicket of leaves, and beyond that, the sky – 

_Right in front of you._

Kaleidoscopic, your vision reels, as if adjusting to a lens. Your head rings, a shrill clangor overwhelming all other sounds your senses intake, and you are deafened; your mouth forms the beginning of a grimace, and your vision pulses as if beaten with a club. You don’t think – you can’t think past this assault on your senses – your ears are about to split into two, and blood like water spills from your tear ducts. Your lips part but your vocal chords are torn.

_“Well, that’s awkward.”_

A pressure taps your forehead, and you are still. 

He drops from the branches.

Your legs lurch you backwards as his feet hit the ground, a phantom entrance in the shroud of the afternoon. His hair, inked like the feathers of a raven, flashes with a sheen of indigo as he raises his head. A yukata, color seemingly inspired by grains of charcoal, covers his lanky form, the hems of the sleeves bizarrely scarred with burn marks. His boyish visage professes his youth, and you estimate that he can be no older than 25. When he grins, the corners of his mouth pulling his lips into fine lines, you realize that you are no longer crying.

Your fingers reach towards your cheeks, feeling nothing but dry skin. The torrent in your mind is calm. You think you can speak, but you don't know what to say.

"You look spooked," the man remarks casually, eyeing your tense form while leaning against the ginkgo. A pause gnaws at the atmosphere, conceived from your persisting bewilderment.

Hesitantly, with a hiccup in your voice and astonishment on your face, you gulp. "Did you hear a sharp noise j-just now?” Panicky, voice slightly higher than usual – but the pallor seeps back into the skin of your face. An inhale. Regaining composure. Exhale. “Around a few seconds ago?"

"What? No. Nothing. Just me, falling from the tree.” Initially he squints, as if not understanding you despite responding in the same language, before dismissively scoffing. In comparison to your sluggish drawl, his quip is brisk like a swift wind. The man gives an encouraging pat to the trunk, seemingly to convey his incredulity of your claim, before continuing cheekily. “Don't you think it's rude to answer a question with a question, eh?"

You are rendered dumbfounded at the ease of his words and the polarity they hold to your own, yet your brain operates on overdrive: he hadn’t been there, there’s no way. It was just you, peering up at the ginkgo leaves, scouring the branches for the nest that had vanished. Then the clamour – the chime of your mind peeling itself from your skull, your senses combusting. You don’t have any medical conditions that could cause such a dissociation, much less know any, and have never experienced a sensation like that before. The lull of the stranger’s words, along with his insistence that he hadn’t shared in your episode, begrudgingly persuades you to dismiss the incident as fiction. 

The fingers from your face fall back to your side, and you let up the tension in your shoulders.

You can still recall the buzzing in your ears. 

“Oh, uh – ” you fumble, caught between your thoughts and words, “ – sorry. I didn’t mean to be impolite. But, erm, no: no one 'ogles' trees.” You begin to explain your circumstance, the timbre of your voice more even than before, and motion upwards to the ginkgo's outreaching branches. “There used to be a sparrow's nest, but it's gone now. So I was just wondering if it fell, or if something else happened." 

"Ah?” The man’s eyebrows raise as he listens to your babbling, seemingly invested in your observations, and even tilts his head as you conclude your clarification. Then he laughs to himself – a quiet yet open expression of his mirth. “Well, maybe the nest grew wings and flew away." 

A delay in your response. He capitalizes on your silence, nimble with his utterances. "Since you’re a keen one on remembering things like nests, I take it that you usually wander out here."

A statement. Self-assured, as if he’s already met you before. Unsettled, but garnering what composure that you can. “Yes. I walk out here a few times a week. And do you?"

"Yeah, but I don't typically see others out here, so it's nice to run into a new face." Matter-of-fact. Laid-back. A wink. You refuse to dive into the spell of his geniality, and your subdued restlessness, your eyes flicker past his face to the worn path that leads back to Tsuchiyu. It’s a hasty action, and just as quickly, your attention returns to the stranger. However, like a thrown ball, he catches your impatience. 

"If you're in a hurry, I won't keep you. Enjoy the scenery while the sun is still out." A halfhearted sigh, and a slow relent. You can’t even fumble to receive the return in time. 

“Oh! No, I'm not in a rush." The atmosphere has tarnished slightly, and you can’t ever recall being in a circumstance where a communicating party had been so presumptuous. Compared to the waiting, tender denizens of Tsuchiyu, this is an inhale of a wintry gale; refreshing to the senses, biting to the flesh. “You're right: not many people are out here, and I guess that's why I find this area charming."

At your admittance, the man appears to perk; the chirp in his voice is detectable through his pronounced syllables. "It sure is. Close enough to walk to the river, and there are cherry blossoms downstream that are beautiful during the blooming season."

"Ah, I saw them a few times during the spring – there are some in Tsuchiyu that travelers enjoy on their way through town."

In understanding, he nods, and confirms his familiarity with the village through his next words. "Shame that they don't bloom more often. You must be from Tsuchiyu, then? Haven't been there in a few years." 

_Haven’t been there in a few years._ Indirectly, his statement affirms your suspicions that he must be a traveler. You’ve never seen someone with a tattered yukata meandering around the streets of Tsuchiyu – there aren’t many local professions that would prompt one to handle fire. If he is a traveler – you scan his figure again, subconsciously noting his toned limbs, his angular features, and taller form. You press your lips together: he doesn’t have any bags.

His voice – invasive, stubbornly alluring with its sociability – glides over the shell of your ear. You realize that you’re closer to his body than you thought you were previously, as if you were to reach your arm out, your fingertips would graze his chest. His chuckle carries the weight of a physical touch. "If you need to go, no need to make small talk with me. But if you really want to keep talking, then maybe I'll drop by."

Your eyelids flutter at his offer, however your expression remains neutral. One moment, he seems disappointed at cutting the conversation short; the next, he insists on being considerate of your time. You find it irritating to read his behavior in tandem with his puckish mannerisms, but you aren’t opposed to leaving this time around. Your shift is still waiting, even if you had only been conversing with this man for a minute or two. "Oh – um, okay. Sorry about all of this. Thank you for being friendly, though." 

"Of course!" He encourages your departure with a wave – it isn’t pressuring, and on the contrary, it’s given in good nature. “A conversation in these parts is hard to come by, but I'm not that lonely as to keep someone hostage!”

Your feet start, preparing to carry you past this raven man. A smile wanes on your lips, a feign to return his compassion. He suddenly remembers that he isn’t done speaking.

“My name is Takao, by the way. It was nice meeting you!"

 _Takao._ Short, harsh on the tongue when initially spoken, but to the point. This time, you’re able to respond and match his alacrity, turning back politely to face him before striding off. "Likewise. Stay safe in your travels . . . my friends call me Asu, by the way.”

You don’t plan on seeing him again; his glamour to your senses is only temporary. No need to give him your real name. 

Your concerns are placed wholly on getting you on home ground, where you won’t feel as if your brain is splitting in two.

* * *

As your figure hurriedly fades into the distance, the beginnings of thunder gallop to the peak of Mt. Azuma. The air smells softly of musk while increasingly gathering pressure on his shoulders; nearby trees shiver with the disagreeable passing of the wind, and more leaves tremble to the ground. His yukata, wafting vaguely of soot, is tugged along with the aggressive gale. He frowns slightly – he hoped that it wouldn’t rain, since the weather had the tendency to influence his mood. But for now, no matter: the storm could be dealt with if it persisted, Mt. Azuma being a ways away. No need for immediate distress. 

With almost comical forlornness, he sighs, shoulders slumped and back hunched over, as if fold in two. When he straightens moments later, his face is raised towards the ashened clouds.

“See? Toshi-chan, that wasn’t so bad.” Takao’s lips pull back, revealing teeth in his grin. He pauses, expectant, of his confidant.

Resonant, as if the thunder in the distance personified, the beating of wings rip the atmosphere in half. A presence more imposing than the Kuroshio Current stirs the leaves, thrusting them into the air with unbridled savagery; a whirlwind, coalescing from the composition of dirt and fauna limbs, soils Takao’s hair and smears his face with debris. Twigs chafe the flesh underneath his eyes, etching pink slashes into the apples of his cheeks. His eyes flutter shut, still waiting.

When he stirs, he is no longer alone.

“Your act,” a voice grumbles, low and disapproving, “wasn’t very convincing.”

The ravenette suppresses his mirth, craning his neck back to address his companion. Their eyes meet – only one of them is amused. 

“You knew that,” Ushijima presses, arms crossed over his chest, “and still decided to be reckless.”

Takao shrugs, dismissive of the accusation. At this, Ushijima’s alabaster wings bristle, animating his vexation. His body, considerably bigger than Takao’s, stands in the center of the remains of the pacified vortex.

“Eh, it worked well enough. It’s not like they pushed the subject either.”

“Every time you talk to a human, you risk exposing us. You should stop being impulsive.”

He isn’t having it, and Takao is well aware. This isn’t the first time they’ve had a discussion over matters like this, but he doesn’t particularly care. The smaller man pivots, maintaining his nonchalant disposition, fully facing Ushijima. Hands on hips, Takao puffs out his chest, before pointing at his associate, taunting. “Then you should stop being so tense! It’s not good for your health. You might’ve been handsome for the past few decades, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get wrinkles with frowns like those.” 

Despite Takao’s observations, Ushijima’s face sours even further, his scowl furrowing his eyebrows and prompting his eyes to narrow. His grimace is the only imperfection tainting his mien, as there are no traces of debris on his figure from the miniature windstorm. 

“Wrinkles aren’t my concern,” the chestnut-haired man starts. His arms remain crossed. “I don’t need you messing in affairs that you shouldn’t.”

“You can’t seriously just stick around to babysit me then, can you? The oh-mighty Ushijima has more important things to deal with, like watching over that Date dynamo from afar.” Irritation leaks into the pronunciation of Takao’s words, and he hurries to catch himself before continuing. He resumes a flippant facade, dropping his arms and opting for a more relaxed approach. “Humans have known about us for a while. Hell, they even make art of us! We,” he points between the two of them, hushing his voice dramatically for theatrics, “are _legends._ ”

If Ushijima is peeved, he refuses to show it even more than he already has. He responds plainly to Takao’s rambling. “Tsutomu would have entertained you today, but he was called to Akita. Don’t make a habit out of adopting human playthings.” He stops, continuing only when Takao meets his eyes after averting them. “It’s beneath you.”

At this, Takao doesn’t bother to uphold any more courtesy; his outburst, although abrupt, is played off as a childish bout, tailored with just the right amount of convincibility. But he’s sure that Ushijima isn’t falling for his charade – he knows him too well. “Oh, c’mon! You know that I’d never do such a thing.” A pout, followed by a staged afterthought. “You’re just jealous, aren’t you?”

Ushijima blanches, as if offended at Takao’s comment of being ‘jealous’ over delinquency. He shakes his head, rejecting the notion. “Now who’s the one being presumptuous? Honestly. Don’t go to Tsuchiyu. It will be better for everyone – especially _them_ – if you stay away.”

He registers and dismisses Ushijima’s warning in the passing of a second. Even before his companion arrived, he had long made up his mind. Ushijima knows this, that his admonitions are futile no matter which situation he catches Takao in, or which words he uses: such is the nature of his ancient friend, the one who insists on starting fires he can never put out. To an extent, Ushijima is just as culpable, always extending the line in the sand with the faith that Takao will eventually heed his caution. Neither of them can help themselves, both drawn into a cycle of aiding and abetting: Takao, with his unrestrained whilm, and Ushijima, with his empty words. 

Takao has never been pulled back. Only through sound has he received consequences, and only through sound will he continue to be controlled.

Without responding, he looks towards Tsuchiyu.


End file.
